Consider its extravagant fertility! Howdependably it breeds itself in the marrowto fill again what drains away, the rivers of brightplatelets singing in their arterial darkuntil a simple incursion, some sharp sever.A jag. An abrupt disclosure as our secret fluidspills against its will—whether a startle or a slowseepage, a prompt to remember our fragility.When a bold splash on a lintel in Egypt signaledsafety, a lifeguard against the death angel, we didn’thave to die; it was only a lamb, and a quick throat cutthat flooded us into another life.“His blood be upon us” echoes in that old yell ofrejection. We can yield instead to bewashed in grace, the scandal of mercyacting as God’s unlikely laundry.Today the cup calls us to the altar rail, transfuses usas we drink deep, a stain that blots old grimesand dyes us with itself.
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